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“I assure you, I’ll manage.” Bryn looks at me and points in the direction of the Reckoning Grounds. “You need to be there. Someone needs to know what other dangers we should expect to encounter.”

He says the last words darkly as he stares down at Wehna. I imagine he cannot look at her without seeing his own daughters.

A rush of nausea threatens to upend me.

I wish I didn’t know exactly how he feels.

39. Belwyn

BELWYN

“THESE BUNS ARE STALE.” My father squeezes one without trying it and makes a face.

Hardly, I think.They were baked fresh this morning.But I keep my mouth shut.

He throws it on the table and paces the length of the kitchen. It only takes four of his long treads.

“Is there nothing in this rat’s hole to eat?”

Mother stands over a basin of dishes, her shoulders drawing upward. I open my mouth to answer for her but stop in surprise when she turns around. Her smile only looks slightly forced.

“What would you like? We still have a bit of pork shoulder left from last night’s dinner, if you think that would appease you. But I’m afraid there isn’t much of it, since it also served as our dinner for three days.”

Father scowls at her and grabs the bun he tossed, sinking his teeth into it. He grunts and sits heavily at the table, for the moment placated. I glance at my mother. Her brow arches along with her subtle smirk of triumph. She turns back to the washing.

I approach her and rest my hand between her shoulder blades. “Why don’t you let me take care of that?”

She nudges a clump of blond hair away from her face with the back of a sudsy hand. Her eyes communicate her question.

“I mean it. Shem and Korvin are upstairs trying to work out the kinks in a new game they’ve concocted. It involves dice and some sort of ...” I chuckle. “Actually, I have no idea. I’m sure they’d love to explain it to you.”

When I drop my hand and roll up my sleeves, taking the brush from her, she squeezes my wrist and bumps me with her shoulder.

If she had told me she loved me, I couldn’t have heard it louder.

“That woman has made you soft,” my father says after she’s dried her hands and ascended the creaky stairs.

I scrub the dish in my hands with extra force and bite my tongue.

“Did you hear me, son?”

The chair shrieks against the floor, and the wet brush is yanked from my hand. I grip the edges of the basin and prepare myself.

“Look at me,” he says, inches away from my ear. His voice carries with it a warning if I should ignore it.

Clenching my jaw together tight, I face him, dishwater dripping on the rough planks of the floor.

Slowly, I raise my eyes.

His are not as dark as mine, but volatile. Fire and ice pressed up together, barely contained in a glassy case. They are set deep into his skull, and I can see the ridges of his eye sockets clearly pronounced around them.

“You’ve always been a disappointment, you know that?”

My fingers curl.

“I am aware,” I whisper.

He tilts his chin. “What was that?” His tone causes a rush of weakness to course through my legs. I lean against the counter and suck in a breath.